Hugh J. O'Donnell

From the aft deck of the ship, she watched the railroad bridge come down behind them and a freight train speed along not ten seconds later.
“That was a close call,” she said to her companion.
“How so?” He asked.
“Imagine if the boat had been a minute late or that train a minute early.”
He scoffed. “You should have a little faith. We are in good hands, and everything works as it should.”
“I suppose so,” she said and watched the houses pass by on the green hillside.
High above them, the child was getting bored with his models.

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She heard the soft, hissing tick of clockwork somewhere close by. The sound faded in and out as though someone was holding a watch close to her ear, then removing it.
She dismissed the distraction. Doctor Syncopal would make his move soon.
She felt a prick on the back of her neck. She slapped at the irritant, and the tiny machine, a replica of a mosquito in gears and cogs, tumbled into her hand. The glass bulb at the back was half-full.
So it was poison then, the coward. She reached for her auto-pistol. It was time for the showdown.

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When the nebula giants found the strange, dense orb drifting through their patch of space, they all passed it around and debated what it could be. Asteroids didn’t have those blinking lights, and comets weren’t so regularly shaped.
One suggested it might be some machine to explore the stars. They even tried to plot out where it had come from. The other giants laughed at their foolish notions. Everyone knew that rocky planets were much too hot and close to their stars to support life.
They came to no conclusion, and finally left the space probe to continue its journey.

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It was the perfect Homestead World, a rarity in the reachable galaxy. The sky was more mauve than blue, but the atmosphere was fresh and breathable. The Sun gave just right levels of heat and light. Even the gravity was perfect.
The residents of an overcrowded Earth, hungry for adventure and opportunities in “the New West,” came in droves.
The frenzied land grab only picked up speed when they found signs of prior habitation, fueled by tall tales of lost alien technology and ancient ruins.
The nomadic aliens were unhappy to find their home infested with humans when they returned.

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He’d been in prison a few weeks before he started feeding the birds. There weren’t any songbirds out in that wasteland, just ravens and scavenger birds. But it was better than nothing.
He saved a few breadcrumbs from his meager supper and left them on the cell’s tiny windowsill. The crows came and ate noisily, so he kept it up.
Eventually, the crows returned the favor and brought him presents. They were junk: string, pebbles, and bits of razor fence that he hid from the guards.
The other prisoners thought he was crazy until the birds brought him a key.

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Death looked at his latest mission and sighed, a sound like a mournful wind among gravestones. He considered pawning the assignment off on a lesser psychopomp. He could claim it was beneath his notice. But that would be a lie that his subordinates would see through.
All deaths were important, even that of a kitten. It wasn’t that the death of an adorable creature was depressing. He didn’t get emotional about his job.
When a cat lost all nine of their lives at once, he’d have to gather them all. He was going to be chasing kitten souls all morning.

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The king saw threats everywhere, bordered on all sides by greedy neighbors. To protect himself, he ordered that a grand fortress be built.
The construction project took most of his life, and nearly bankrupted the national treasury, but as he sat behind his thick stone walls, he deemed it a worthy expense for true security.
Now that he was safe, he sent messengers to his neighboring kingdoms and told them exactly what he thought of them. He knew that their armies couldn’t breach his castle.
When the drought came, his cisterns failed. He had nobody to turn to for help.

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He wasn’t the best golfer to ever play the game, but he may have been the strongest. The power of his shots was unrivaled, breaking distance records and stunning audiences with the power of his swings. But he was banned from the professional circuit.
A fan favorite, a debate raged across the sports world about what to do. But for as powerful as he was, he lacked finesse, which is what led to his downfall.
The greenskeepers aligned to remove him from the sport, to prevent the scorched holes and craters he left in the rough and on the green.

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